


Empty Parts

by Cassiara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Community: hp_drizzle, Conversations, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends to Lovers, HP Drizzle Fest 2019, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Romilda Vane is Abusive, domestic abuse, threatened suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-08-20 19:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20233123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiara/pseuds/Cassiara
Summary: Dean knows he’s abandoned his friend. Knows he’s abandoned everything. “I’m sorry, Seamus, please.” He fights the urge to whisper the words, knowing they won’t be heard through the thundering rain if he does. He thinks speaking up now is strange, he hasn’t spoken up about anything in too long.





	Empty Parts

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Keyflight790 for being a fantastic Beta on this fic. And thank you to the mods for hosting! 
> 
> Written for the prompt: A heart wrenching confession under heavy summer rain.

_i do not want to have you_  
_to fill the empty parts of me_  
_i want to be full on my own_  
Rupi Kaur 

Dean opens the door when someone knocks, thinking Romilda has finally arrived, and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. When the door swings open and Seamus is standing there, shaking out his dripping umbrella, Dean’s breath catches. They’d agreed to meet, and he’d forgotten to cancel.

“Wow, you’re literally just sat here at home doing nothing,” Seamus says. “You know, I genuinely hoped you were sick, or at work, or doing anything other than just blowing me off for no reason.”

“Seamus, I -,” Dean says feeling hopeless. He doesn’t have an explanation. ‘I’m sorry, I was home just in case my girlfriend drops by’, won’t get him forgiveness, only more anger.

“Save it,” Seamus says. “I’m done. I’m so fucking done.”

Seamus storms down the stairs from Dean’s flat before he can work up a response. After standing frozen for too long, Dean runs after him. The rain, when he follows Seamus outside, is falling heavily. The sound of water hitting the pavement is loud in Dean’s ears. He hasn’t left his flat in days now. Or maybe it’s been weeks.

“Seamus, wait!” Dean calls, running after his friend. At least, he hopes Seamus is still his friend. Dean knows he doesn’t deserve it.

Seamus stops, but doesn’t turn. Not fully. In his anger, he’s forgotten to open his umbrella, and he’s rapidly becoming soaked through. His hair is falling into his eyes releasing droplets of rain that run down his face.

“Please,” Dean says, choking on a sob. The heavy rain washes his tears off his face before they can be seen. Dean thinks maybe this time he wants them seen though, he wants Seamus to know how much it _hurts_. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not,” Seamus says. “You’re leaving me. You left me, you – I’ve hardly spoken to you all year.”

“I know,” Dean says, and he does. He knows he’s abandoned his friend. Knows he’s abandoned everything. “I’m sorry, Seamus, please.” He fights the urge to whisper the words, knowing they won’t be heard through the thundering rain if he does. He thinks speaking up now is strange, he hasn’t spoken up about anything in too long.

* * *

_Dean should have realised he wasn’t straight when he was fourteen and started having dreams. But he’d figured the dreams didn’t matter, since he had a crush on Ginny. You couldn’t have a crush on a girl and be gay, right? What did it matter if he sometimes felt the same way about his best mate. After the war though, gay angst didn’t seem to matter much. Or bi angst, as had been the case for Dean. He came out and spent a good five years pining after his best mate before he decided it was time to move on. Time to start dating. After a few failed attempts he’d met Romilda. Or met again, he supposed, since they’d been in school together._

_They hadn’t started out dating, but had met after exchanging sympathetic looks as they sat next to each other in a restaurant while enduring terrible dates. They’d gone for ice-cream after, laughing until they cried over bad-date-stories. They’d kept in touch, going out to dinner and talking into the early hours of the night. They discussed everything from war trauma to bad haircuts and eventually Dean felt, for the first time, that he was truly loved by someone who wasn’t his family._

_In hindsight he realised there had been warnings already. Small signs he’d chosen to ignore or hadn’t known to look for. Like how she didn’t have any friends, or how she was always arguing with someone, how all of Dean’s friends didn’t get along with her. Dean had figured that they just didn’t understand her. They didn’t know what she’d been through, or why she did the things she did. _

* * *

“Do you have any idea how many times I’d gone to wherever we’d agreed to meet? How many times I sat alone at a bloody café, hoping maybe _this time_ you’d show up?” Seamus asks. His jeans, Dean notices, is rapidly turning a darker shade of blue. It’s easier to notice his jeans than it is to acknowledge the pain he sees in Seamus’ face. “You act like I don’t matter, like I don’t even exist.”

“I’m sorry!” Dean repeats, knowing the words are insufficient. “I know you don’t understand, but I couldn’t. I wanted to come, every time – I swear Seamus, you matter so much.” Dean wants to fall to his knees on the wet ground and beg Seamus to stay. He wants to say he won’t survive without him, because he suspects it’s the truth. He won’t do that though, ever. He knows the damage it can cause.

* * *

_He started dating Romilda after being friends for five months. It felt like the most natural thing he’d ever done. She loved him, he loved her and they got along great._

_“Want to watch a movie tonight?” Romilda asked, smiling at Dean from behind her sandwich. They’d started having lunch together while just friends, and they kept it up after they’d started dating._

_“Can’t,” Dean said, “I’m meeting Seamus at the pub.”_

_Romilda’s face fell, and Dean immediately felt bad. He felt bad for spending so little time with Seamus too, though. Balancing being in a relationship with finding time for everything else had been more challenging than Dean had expected._

_“Right, of course you are,” Romilda said, not meeting his eyes._

_“Just, I haven’t seen him in a while,” Dean said, feeling steadily more terrible._

_“No it’s fine, I’ll just – well I’ll just hang out with myself,” Romilda said, looking absolutely miserable._

_“Can’t you ask one of your friends?” Dean said, and regretted it immediately when Romilda’s eyes watered._

_“You know I don’t have any, I don’t have anyone apart from you,” Romilda said. “It’s fine though – just go.”_

_“No, I’ll, er, Seamus will be fine. Let’s watch a movie.”_

_Romilda glowed, smiling at Dean like he’d just lit up the room. “Really?”_

_“Yeah,” Dean said, wondering why he didn’t feel pure joy at making his girlfriend happy. _

* * *

“You couldn’t? What’s that supposed to mean?” Seamus demands, “You’re an adult. You’re capable of walking. If you’d wanted to be there you would have.”

Dean bites his tongue to keep from screaming in frustration. If he loses Seamus now there won’t be anything left. He won’t ever get out, he won’t have a reason to. He doesn’t even know how to start explaining though. Doesn’t even know if Seamus will believe him.

* * *

_The fifth time Dean cancelled his plans to hang out with Romilda, he started to realise she’d always be sad when he had plans that didn’t involve her. He figured they’d both have to find a way to deal with it, so the sixth time he left to play Quidditch with Seamus, Harry and Ron as planned._

_When he came home his answering-machine was blinking with seventeen unanswered calls. Feeling nauseous Dean pressed to play the first one._

_“I hope you’re having a wonderful time with your friends. I’m bored. Ring me when you get home,” Romilda’s voice said, before the machine jumped to the next message._

_“So it’s been two hours, I hope you’re alright. Call me.”_

_“If you don’t care about me I’d rather you just said so, instead of ignoring me all day. It’s been almost three hours.”_

_“Your priorities are really fucked up if you’d rather spend all day messing about on a broom than hang out with your girlfriend. Don’t you love me?”_

_Dean stared at the answering machine, feeling like he might throw up. He wanted to turn it off, but he couldn’t avoid listening. Not if he wanted to fix things with Romilda. How could she think he didn’t love her?_

_“You’re so fucking stupid, do you really think your friends love you as much as I do?”_

_Dean’s breath caught in his chest._

_“I take the last message back, I don’t fucking love you, you don’t deserve it for treating me like this.”_

_He couldn’t inhale._

_“You disgust me Dean, really. Do you think you’re ever going to find another girlfriend? You’re so selfish. And I mean, do you think you’re attractive? You’re not.”_

_Tears were prickling in his eyes._

_“It’s been five hours and no noise from you. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. I’m always there when you need me – and the one time I need you you’re off playing a kid’s game.”_

_“Do you think you can even function without me? You were a mess when we met. Remember how unhappy you were? You need me Dean.”_

_The shallow breaths he took didn’t feel sufficient. His chest ached._

_“I hate you. I hate you so much. You’re selfish, and disgusting. Your nose is crooked and your ears are way too big for your head and nobody is ever going to be attracted to you.”_

_Dean resisted the urge to run for a mirror. He knew she was right, he’d seen his nose and ears before._

_“Do you think your friends love you? They pity you, that’s the only reason they hang out with you. It’s painfully obvious, and the fact you can’t even see it just tells me how stupid you are.”_

_Dean finally let himself sink to the floor, gasping for air. Why was she saying this?_

_“Dean,” Romilda’s voice rang from the answering machine and it was obvious she was crying. “Dean, I’m so sorry. I was just so worried and alone.”_

_“Dean, can you ever forgive me? I’m so sorry, please.”_

_“Dean, please, I’m begging, call me back. I’m so sorry.”_

_“I know you’ll never forgive me, but Dean please – I can’t live without you. I need you.”_

_“I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you.”_

_“I should just kill myself. I’m sorry.”_

_Dean jumped from his position on the floor and looked at his watch. He’d been gone for eight hours, and the last message was half an hour old. What if she’d done something? What if she’d _killed_ herself?_

* * *

“Romilda,” Dean says and pauses. He doesn’t know how to follow it up. She hadn’t forced him to stop seeing Seamus. She’d never locked the door and tied him up. She’d just – fallen apart whenever he left and convinced him Seamus didn’t want to see him anyways. She’d made Dean believe he was doing everyone a favour by avoiding them. “I thought you didn’t really want to see me.”

Seamus wipes rain-slicked hair from his eyes. “Yeah, that must have been real obvious from how I kept asking you to hang out.”

“She said -, I thought it was just pity,” Dean says, clenching his fist so hard his nails cut into his palm. He can’t seem to get the words out, to blame his girlfriend for his own stupidity.

“She said?” Seamus says, latching onto the words Dean wishes he could take back. “What kind of poison has Romilda been feeding you?”

* * *

_Romilda stared at him with cold eyes, glancing pointedly at the stain he’d gotten on his new shirt. It had been a gift._

_“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I really loved this shirt. I didn’t notice the stain until it was too late to Vanish it.”_

_“Are you sorry?” Romilda asked, still strangely cold. “You don’t seem sorry. Maybe you just don’t appreciate the effort I took to buy you something nice.”_

_Dean took a deep breath to hold back his tears. Romilda didn’t like it when he cried. “I am sorry, really, I’m so, so sorry.”_

_“I think, if you’re really sorry, you should punish yourself.”_

_“What?” Dean spluttered, “How?”_

_“Cut yourself,” Romilda said. Dean waited, hoped she was joking, but she never took the words back._

_“What?” he asked, voice shaking._

_“Cut yourself, three times should do,” Romilda said. Dean didn’t understand where this was all coming from, why she was asking him to do this. “Oh don’t look so shocked. I’ve seen your scars, I know you used to do it.”_

_“I did,” Dean admitted, “during the war, but -,” Romilda cut him off._

_“If you were truly sorry you’d punish yourself. But I guess you don’t care that I’m hurt.”_

_Dean got up in a daze, figuring that even if she’d asked for something else – some other punishment, he’d still end up in the bathroom with a knife to his arm just so he wouldn’t have to feel what was actually happening. Cutting himself had never been a punishment for him, it had always been about not _feeling_. It was exactly what he needed._

_“Pathetic,” Romilda said when she inspected the cuts later. “But I guess you really are sorry. I’ll get you a new shirt.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Dean said, staring numbly at his girlfriend. “Thank you.”_

_“I love you,” Romilda said. For the first time Dean thought she probably didn’t. _

* * *

“She, I-,” Dean gasps. The sobs he’s been shoving down and building barriers to contain tear through his chest. He feels raw, broken, desperate. “I think she – I mean, she’s never hit me, but -.” Dean lets the words trail off. He can’t bring himself to say it, the word that’s been buzzing around in his head for the past six months.

Seamus finally turns fully around to face Dean. He no longer looks like he might walk away at any moment. “I need you to finish that sentence, Dean,” he says sounding so serious Dean thinks he might puke, “because the ‘but’ terrifies me.”

“She said you only asked me to hang out because you pitied me. And I mean,” Dean hurries to explain, “I didn’t believe her – at first. But then I guess, eventually I did. And she was so upset when I wasn’t with her, or at home waiting for her to get there. And I couldn’t – I’m so scared to make her angry, or sad, or anything. I can’t breathe, I can’t fucking breathe and I just – I couldn’t come.”

“Dean,” Seamus says, stepping closer to Dean. Close enough to touch, Dean thinks, but Seamus doesn’t. “Is she – fuck, is she abusing you?”

“She doesn’t hit me,” Dean insists, “but I think, maybe, yes.” He shivers and he’s not sure if it’s from the cold rain thundering down on him, soaking him to the bones, or from the admission. The realisation.

“Come on, let’s go to my place,” Seamus says, placing a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean tries, and fails, not to twitch.

“I can’t,” he says. He shoots Seamus a pleading look, begging him to understand. “I can’t leave.”

* * *

_Dean was crying when Romilda came over. He hadn’t seen Seamus in months, and it had officially been over two weeks since the last time Seamus had asked him to meet up. His friend had given up, or finally decided he couldn’t be bothered hanging out with someone out of pity anymore._

_“Merlin, what’s wrong?” Romilda asked, wrapping her arms around Dean in a comforting hug. Dean let himself sink into it._

_“I just, miss Seamus I guess,” he said._

_“I’m sorry honey, I know it hurts. It’s better this way though, he doesn’t really care for you.”_

_“I know,” Dean said, wrapping Romilda’s arms more tightly around himself. “It just hurts.”_

_Romilda abruptly pulled away and Dean felt the loss of her comforting arms like an ache. “Holy shit, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Romilda asked. She didn’t sound angry though, and Dean let it fool him into thinking he could answer honestly._

_“I was, I think part of me will always be,” he said. “I love you too though, so much.”_

_Romilda sneered, and Dean felt his heartbeat speed up. “You poor pathetic thing, did you really think he could ever love you back?”_

_Dean had hoped, once, but he wouldn’t submit himself to the humiliation of admitting it out loud. He shook his head instead._

_“At least you’re not delusional. You know I’m the only one who’ll ever truly love you.”_

_Dean used to feel warm at the idea that Romilda loved him, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. “Do you, though? Love me?”_

_“Of course I do,” Romilda said. Dean thought about the months of isolation, the cuts on his arms and thighs, the nights he spent just waiting in his flat because if Romilda showed up and he wasn’t there things would be _bad_. He thought about the times she came over late at night, smelling of men’s cologne._

_“I know you’ve been cheating on me,” he said. It was the only thing he could bring up without sounding like he was whining._

_“Well, yeah, of course I am,” Romilda sneered. Dean wasn’t sure why he’d thought she would deny it. He should have known the only predictable thing about his girlfriend was that she was unpredictable._

_“You don’t expect me to be happy with only you, do you? I’m sorry Dean, you’re just – not enough.”_

_Dean couldn’t do it anymore. Being unhappy and unloved alone had to be better than being unhappy and unloved while in a relationship. At least alone he’d be able to breathe._

_“You should go,” he said, “just leave. We’re done, it’s over.”_

_“What?” Romilda said. Tears welled up in her eyes and she stepped closer to Dean, arms outstretched. “No, please, no. Don’t leave me.”_

_“You obviously don’t want to be with me,” Dean said, wiping angrily at his own tears._

_“I do. I love you, I’m sorry Dean. I’m so sorry, I won’t cheat. I’ll stop. I’m sorry. I love you, I need you,” Romilda said. She dropped down on her knees in front of Dean, sobbing and clutching at his legs. “Dean, please. I can’t live without you. I’ll kill myself if you leave me.”_

* * *

“Why not?” Seamus asks. He holds a hand out to catch the rain as it falls as if begging Dean to notice the weather. “Why can’t you come to my flat and talk without us both getting pneumonia?”

“She’ll kill herself if I leave her,” Dean says. He wonders if it’s true. She’d been wrong, it seemed, about Seamus.

“I don’t care. Keeping her alive isn’t your responsibility. Besides, she was probably lying.”

“But what if she wasn’t? What if she comes here tonight and is angry or upset?” Dean says. “She loves me Seamus.”

“Do you love her?” Seamus asks, and Dean only has to wonder for a moment before he replies. What he feels for Romilda doesn’t even come close to how he feels for Seamus. Not anymore.

“No, not like I did. But I love how she loves me. Nobody else will ever do that, I don’t – I’ll never have anything better.”

“I love you,” Seamus says, and it breaks Dean’s heart, because he doesn’t mean it. Not like that, maybe not at all. Seamus’ lashes are wet, and Dean focuses on how it makes them clump together. He wonders if it’s tears or the rain.

“What?” Dean croaks, because even though it’s not the admission of love he dreams of, it’s more than he ever expected. Romilda’s voice rings in his head, telling him how Seamus would be disgusted to know Dean had been _perving for years_. But Seamus doesn’t know how Dean truly feels, so maybe he does means it. At least for now. Dean stopped believing in unconditional love months ago.

“I love you. You deserve better, Dean, so much better,” Seamus says.

“I think I’m ready to get out of the rain now,” Dean says. “I think I’m ready to get out.”

“Come on,” Seamus says. He holds his hand out for Dean, but leaves enough space between them that it’s Dean’s choice to take it.

Dean hesitates. He knows, technically, that the only thing taking that hand will mean is going to Seamus’ flat. He also knows, though, that this is where he leaves Romilda. Dean either leaves her, or brushes Seamus off and goes back inside. Both options seem terrifying. If nothing else he knows what he has with Romilda, and it feels - it feels like what he deserves. A love that isn’t perfect, that’s not even good most days. A love that hurts him, and breaks him down, and leaves him feeling like he shouldn’t want anything better.

And then there is Seamus, his best mate who’s standing in the pouring rain with his hand outstretched. Standing by Dean after being overlooked, ignored and mistreated for a year. Saying he loves him. Dean struggles to believe it, but the realisation that it doesn’t matter strikes him like lightning. It doesn’t matter if it’s real or not, not when making this decision. What matters is that someone _could_ love him because Dean, contrary to what Romilda has convinced him, is capable of being loved. At least, that’s the idea Seamus’ words are slowly installing in him.

Dean reaches out a hand, wet and shaking, to clasp Seamus’ outstretched one. He only has a second to appreciate the warmth of Seamus’ hand before he’s being pulled into the tightness of apparition.

* * *

Dean doesn’t think he has the words to talk about his relationship with Romilda, but Seamus doesn’t push. He guides Dean to his shower, and rummages around until he returns with a fluffy towel and dry pyjamas.

Dean stands under the hot shower for too long, trying to let it warm him. It works, mostly, but he suspects the remaining shivering feeling in him doesn’t have anything to do with the rain, and everything to do with anxiety.

When he finally exits he finds Seamus on the sofa. He’s changed his clothes, and he’s clutching a steaming cup of tea. The cup Dean had always used when he was here before sits on the table, the words painted on it, _blow me, I’m hot_, had always made him laugh.

“So, I figure you move in with me for a while,” Seamus says, “if you want. I know you never really moved in with Romilda, but I’m guessing she’s keyed into your wards.”

“I can’t just disappear,” Dean says, feeling like doing just that is the most tempting thing in the world. “I’ll have to let her know, I need to tell her it’s – that we’re -,” he trails off, unable to say done, or over, or anything else to signify he’s not going back.

“You don’t owe her shit,” Seamus says.

“I feel like I do, and fuck, what if she kills herself?” Dean says, but he realises as he says it that he’s just as afraid of what might happen if he goes back to talk to her. What if she convinces him to stay. What if she tells Seamus how he really feels? And shit, he’s made a mistake. He’s made a mistake leaving and if she’s found out she’ll be angry and he has to go back.

“I need to go home,” he says, struggling for breath. “I can’t leave her, I can’t – she’ll ruin me.”

“Mate, just tell me this. Are you going back to her because you love her or even because it’s good? Or are you going back because you’re scared?” Seamus says, and Dean feels like rolling his eyes at him. Of course he’s going back because he’s scared.

“What are you afraid of?” Seamus asks, and Dean’s glad to hear there isn’t any sarcasm in his tone. He’s genuinely wondering, not trying to invalidate Dean’s fear. It’s a relief, but it’s also terrible because Dean is terrified of losing Seamus, but no matter what he answers, he will. He either tells Seamus how he feels, or Romilda does, and then Seamus will be disgusted. That, or he goes back to Romilda and loses Seamus because she won’t let him have him. The only way he doesn’t lose Seamus is if Romilda was wrong, that he won’t be disgusted to know Dean’s been in love with him for years. And the only way to know is to tell him.

“I’m – she knows all my secrets. If I don’t go back, she’ll tell you. And then you’ll hate me.”

“Dean, I love you, I could never hate you. Ever,” Seamus says. And there it is again, Dean thinks. Everything he needs, and not enough.

“Not like I love you,” Dean says. He hates himself as he does it, but at least it’s out of him now. If Seamus vomits all over him he’ll know Romilda was right. About this, and maybe the rest too.

“I love you like I want to be with you,” Seamus says, and Dean’s breath catches in surprise. “Like I want to sleep with you in my arms, and kiss your nose when you’re being cute. I love you like I want to spend my life with you, cuddling in sofas and kissing in the sun. I’m in love with you, Dean,” Seamus says. He looks sincere, like the words have been spinning around in his head for days or weeks, just waiting to be let out.

“You – what?” Dean says, gaping at his friend.

“I’m in love with you. I don’t expect you to, like, do anything about it. I know you’re going through a lot right now, and it must all be confusing as hell. But Romilda is so wrong, you’re not unlovable. You’re not going to be alone forever if you leave her. I love you, and anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

* * *

It takes two days before Romilda finds him. Dean isn’t sure if it took her two days to notice he was gone, or if she took days to realise Seamus’ flat was the right place to look. He thinks she must have been watching the flat for a while, or his luck is just terrible, because she breaks down the wards and enters just after Seamus has left to get their take-out.

Dean thinks he should feel scared, and he realises part of him does. The bigger part though stares numbly at her as she storms into the flat, hair wild and breathing hard.

“What the FUCK, Dean?” she demands when she’s right in front of him, pausing and crossing her arms tightly.

“I’m -,” Dean breaks off, not willing to say he’s sorry when he’s not. Or at least, when he doesn’t want to be.

Romilda stares at him, and Dean knows she’s not seeing anything good. He’s dressed in pyjamas still, and he knows he’s got dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. From lying awake in Seamus’ guest bedroom, wondering what the fuck he’s going to do.

“Told you you’d fall apart without me,” she says, rolling her eyes, “come on. We’re leaving.”

She turns and starts walking away, and Dean realises she’s expecting him to just obey. And of course she is, he’s done nothing but obey since they got together.

“No,” he says. The word rings heavily in the otherwise silent flat, and Dean sees Romilda’s back tighten.

“What do you mean, no?” she asks, twisting her voice into a mockery of Dean.

Dean realises he’s shaking. His hands twitch against his sides, and his legs itch to move – to follow her out. “It means no, it means I’m done,” he says, hating when his voice shakes too.

“You’re done?” Romilda says. She’s not mocking him anymore, but her stare has turned to ice. That’s never a good sign.

“It’s over,” Dean says, his voice breaks but he keeps going. He’s spent two days feeling like he’s finally able to breath, and when Romilda walked in he was choking again. It makes the decision easier, Dean never wants to feel like he can’t catch his breath again. “We’re over.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” Romilda asks, voice quivering. Her gaze turns from icy to watery in a second, and suddenly she’s crying. “No, you can’t.”

“I have to, I don’t – I don’t love you anymore. And you don’t love me. I can’t keep doing this,” Dean says.

“I do love you,” Romilda says, “you can’t leave me, I’ll die without you. I’ll kill myself.”

Dean takes a steadying breath, casting his mind back to what Seamus had said. “I can’t throw my whole self away to keep you alive, I can’t be your human life-support. I don’t want you to die but I can’t be the one keeping you alive anymore, because it’s killing me.”

Romilda keeps sobbing, and part of Dean wants to join her and fall to the floor in a sobbing heap too. This is the most difficult thing he’s ever done, because most of him still doesn’t believe he deserves better.

“I’m pregnant,” Romilda says then, and Dean thinks maybe she’s always been lying – because it’s so believable.

“You’re not. Not with me at least,” Dean says. “I can’t have kids, remember?”

Romilda stops crying in an instant, and suddenly she’s cold as ice again – fixing Dean with a stare that terrifies him. “What will you do then? Stay here with Seamus, perv on him like the disgusting poof you are? He’ll hate you when he figures it out, you know?”

“He already knows,” Dean says. He shouldn’t be playing her game. He should ask her to leave or refuse to answer. He shouldn’t give her more ammunition.

“Oh, wow, I didn’t realise the pity would go far enough for him to pretend he’s not disgusted.”

“He’s not – he,” Dean says, finding himself unable to form a sentence.

“What? You think he’ll ever love you back? Best you’ll get is him pretending. You’re going to stop being my life support and start making him be yours? Are you really that selfish?” Romilda says, and Dean can’t breathe because what if he’s doing to Seamus what she’s been doing to him?

“Get the fuck out of my flat,” Seamus says. He’s standing in the doorway, clutching the food he’s gone to get with a look of absolute fury on his face. For a terrifying moment Dean thinks Seamus is talking to him. That he’s grown sick and tired of the drama that is Dean. Seamus’ eyes though, burning with hot rage, are fixed on Romilda.

“I’m just here to get my boyfriend,” she says. Her icy tone is a stark contrast to Seamus’ heat, and Dean wonders who will win. Will Seamus melt her ice, or will she put out his flame.

“He’s not your boyfriend, and this is _my_ flat. Leave,” Seamus bites out between clenched teeth.

“Fine,” Romilda says, rolling her eyes, “you’ll be sick of him soon enough and beg me to take him off your hands.”

Seamus shakes with rage, and Dean can see his hand twitching to the pocket he keeps his wand in. It’s a relief, because intentional or not Romilda has just voiced his biggest fear – that Seamus might claim to love him now, but he doesn’t know how selfish or demanding Dean can be. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

“Dean.” Seamus pauses to breathe heavily in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Is. Not. Some _thing_ for us to pass between us. He’s a person, and a wonderful one at that. I’ve known him over half my life, and I’ve not grown tired yet – I’m hardly going to start now.”

“He’s a poof,” Romilda says. She sounds a bit desperate, Dean thinks. Like she realises she won’t win this one.

“So am I, you gobshite!” Seamus draws his wand now and points it at Romilda. Dean is impressed to see that though he’s still shaking in anger, his wand-arm is completely steady. “Now get out of my flat before I transfigure you to the maggot you are and step on you.”

Romilda takes a step back from Seamus, probably to avoid his wand, but she ends up closer to Dean. Too close. His breath catches in his throat as he tries not to let her proximity frighten him. He takes two hasty steps back and jumps when his back hits the wall. _Fuck_ he can’t get away.

“Fine,” Romilda finally agrees and takes a blissful step away from Dean. Seamus steps out of the doorway to let her pass, never lowering his wand. Just as she’s walking out the door though, Romilda turns. “You should know he’s absolutely fucked up. Have you seen his thighs lately?”

Seamus doesn’t answer, instead he lets out a roar of anger and frustration and _pushes_ Romilda over the threshold before he slams the door in her face.

“Merlin’s saggy ballsack, what an absolute bitch,” Seamus says, breathing hard.

Dean hardly hears though, through the buzzing in his ears. He can’t seem to catch his breath. He’s ended it with Romilda. He’s out. Properly out. He should feel nothing but relief but all his body can seem to manage is ice cold terror. ‘_Have you seen his thighs?_’ rings in his ears. The look of fury on Seamus’ face is directed at Romilda, he knows that, he does. His brain can’t seem to process the fact though, because Seamus is angry and it _has_ to be Dean’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, voice shaking. His back is still pressed up against the wall and suddenly it’s a relief because his body feels so weak he’s not sure he could stand up on his own.

“I’m sorry, Seamus, please. I’m so sorry.” Dean can’t stop apologising. He hears Seamus speak, but he can’t make out the words over his own desperate and terrified whispered apologies. He thinks his heart might explode from his chest it’s beating so hard. His sorrys become more gasps than words as he goes on, heaving for breath through lungs that are suddenly too small.

The words that finally bring him back to the flat, to the cold floor he’s sunk down to, and the rough wall against his back are the ones he wasn’t expecting. The ones he hasn’t heard in so long.

“It’s ok, Dean” Seamus says. “It’s ok, it’s not your fault. It’s alright, I forgive you.”

Dean breathes, gasping breaths at first but they grow steadier and slower with each passing second. When his heart has slowed down enough that he can’t feel it in his throat anymore he starts to speak. He tells Seamus about the phone calls after he’d gone out that one time, he tells him about how Romilda had told him to punish himself, about how he’d sometimes cut even when she hadn’t told him – just because it all got to be too much. Dean tells him about sitting alone in his flat for days without a word from Romilda, just because she’d be furious if she came over and found he wasn’t there. He tells Seamus about how she’d convinced him he’s unlovable, selfish, stupid and wrong. He speaks until his voice is hoarse from overuse and the food Seamus had brought is long since cold, forgotten on the floor. Seamus just listens; he sits on the floor next to Dean and nods to show he’s still paying attention whenever Dean looks at him. It’s cathartic, Dean realises, to say it all out loud. Speaking of the things Romilda had told him or made him do is like releasing them, bleeding the poison of her words out of his veins.

* * *

Summer the next year is a dry one. It’s a stark contrast to the constant rain that had poured down the previous year, and Dean is glad for it. Though he loves a good rain-storm he’s not ready to be reminded of how he’d stood so broken in front of Seamus that night, both of them soaked through as he had finally admitted to himself and his mate that things with Romilda were not ok.

He was only supposed to stay with Seamus for a while, after things ended with Romilda, but as their relationship had slowly evolved from best friends to boyfriends it hadn’t felt right to leave. Dean hadn’t wanted to leave, and it had felt so wonderfully freeing that he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to do, at least not because someone else told him to.

Dean knows he still apologises too much, that if Seamus is angry at something but doesn’t tell him what, Dean will automatically assume he’s done something wrong. Their first fight had been terrifying, but after it was done Seamus had brought Dean flowers and said how proud he was that Dean had disagreed and stood up for himself. He can disagree with ease now, about what to have for dinner, or what movie to watch. He can leave the flat to go hang out with Harry, Ron or Neville, and not worry that Seamus will be mad. He can go outside and actually _feel_ the sun on his face, and let the warmth of it seep through him. He can say Romilda was abusive, though he still struggles with saying he was abused.

Dean grins when he thinks about the ring he’d found hidden in their book-shelf when he’d been searching for a place to hide the one he’d bought for Seamus. He’s asking Seamus later today, on the anniversary of their first kiss. He thinks maybe he should feel nervous, but he doesn’t. Not about Seamus’ answer, and not about spending their lives together. He knows Seamus loves him, he knows they fit together like biscuits and tea. Seamus isn’t his entire life, like Romilda had tried to be. He’s not Dean’s ‘half’ either. They’re both whole, just better and brighter together.

**Author's Note:**

> This story/art is part of an anonymous fest: drizzle 2019. Reveals will be in mid-october. Please do not repost anywhere else without explicit permission from the original creator.


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